Confronting our own silences, and listening to ourselves, eventually moves us toward listening to other, previously unheard silences. To the silences in many who have had to quiet the expressive parts of themselves. To the silences of children, too often "shushed" as having nothing to contribute. To the silences of Earth, in its land and air and water, so often in pain where we have abused it, as well as to the faulty systems, structures, and customs that reinforce such troubling silence. As our listening deepens, we inevitably touch the Center of all stillness. In the midst of all the silences, we become able to hear the quiet Presence of the One who loves us, cherishes us, needs us... We meet the Holy Mystery whose listening to us is the primordial power, hearing us into speech.
We have heard it said that the eyes are the windows of the soul, and the soul is very present in children... We have all been children, and we all have memories of our childhood: those experiences of the emotional body which are palpable and still radiating from us. Those experiences have consolidated and crystallized the imprints upon which act as our frame of reference for who we are, and what we are allowed in our life today. When we make contact with that inner child, we are able to shift from the emotional body's experience to the deeper, more profound love of our cosmic self. The child reminds us that God laughs.
~ from ECSTASY IS A NEW FREQUENCY by Chris Griscom
The child that is born is an open bridge to the unconscious, to the unmanifest, expanded multidimensional soul. Babies are so magnificent. They're always staring off into space, into the eyes of their beloveds, of their companion souls, of God. We have all heard it said that the eyes are the windows of the soul, and the soul is very present in children... As we touch the child inside ourselves, we begin to shift from the emotional body's experience to the deeper, more profound love of our cosmic self. The child reminds us that God laughs.
~ from ECSTASY IS A NEW FREQUENCY by Chris Griscom